


Always a Con-Artist

by caramelsilver



Category: Anastasia (1997)
Genre: F/M, Post-Movie, they are awesome pick-pockets now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelsilver/pseuds/caramelsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't sure what she had expected. For them to settle down? For him to have one honest job, where he would work all day to pay for their shitty apartment? Deep down she probably knew that could never last long, and it didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always a Con-Artist

He wasn't sure what she had expected. For them to settle down? For him to have one honest job, where he would work all day to pay for their shitty apartment? Deep down she probably knew that could never last long, and it didn't. 

In his defense, he did try, he tried his best. But then one night his work buddies invited him for a game of poker and it was just too tempting. Once a con-artist, always a con-artist. He hustled them for all they were worth, and they had to skip town not long after that. 

Surprisingly, she wasn't angry. Actually, she seemed kind of glad. 

The monotony of going to the same job everyday, working late every night, and them never seeing each other had not made her happy at all. _And I did not leave my grandmother, the only family I have left, to not spend time with you._ That's what she said at least when he asked. 

So they fled and she seemed happier than she had been in weeks. It seemed that Anya liked danger and excitement just as much as he did, which is why he fell in love with her in the first place. Anywhere they went, she took everything in stride. Missed the train? _Let's walk to the next station,_ she'd say. _Not like we haven't done it before._ She'd kiss him hard and start walking, and he'd have no other choice than to follow her. 

In the beginning, he'd do a little pick-pocketing here and there, and she'd pretend she didn't know where the money came from. She was the Grand Duchess of Russia after all, and she was no thief. But after a while he saw her watching him, studying him, in fact, wondering how he did it. He didn't ask her if she wanted him to teach her, she wasn't ready for that yet. 

And onwards they travelled, from town to town, never settling, never standing still. One night he taught her how to play poker and it didn't take her long before she was beating him. 

Luckily for his pride; out of the two of them, he was still the one who could best hold his liquor. Anya was gone after three shots of vodka- they'd have to work on that. 

In the next town she threw all pretenses out. _What's the easiest way to get any money?_ she asked him one night as they lay in bed.

He looked at her, searching her face, wondering if she meant what he thought she meant. He found what he was looking for, and a second later he was grinning and said, _well there's this simple con we could pull?_ He phrased it like a question in case he had read her wrong, but when her face lit up with excitement, he sagged back in relief. 

_Teach me,_ she said. God, he loved this woman.

_finis._


End file.
